


PDA

by myleftsock



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - America, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bread Sex, Crisco as Lube, Don't Be a Dick to Retail Workers, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Grocery Store, Humor, IKEA, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Public Sex, Those Are Some Tags, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29269842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myleftsock/pseuds/myleftsock
Summary: Felix can't take Sylvain anywhere.Or, Felix and Sylvain fuck in public places (and get caught).
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26
Collections: Horny Void





	1. publix sex

**Author's Note:**

> this fic uses words like "dick" and "hole" for felix, along with some gender-neutral language, but it also describes him as "wet"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> croissants don't deserve this kind of treatment

“I don’t know why you always insist on coming to the store with me,” Felix mutters as he piles two-for-one beef jerky into the cart. “I could do this way faster by myself.”

“Aww, come on. Aren’t you having fun?”

Grocery shopping is not Felix’s idea of fun, with or without Sylvain. It’s a hassle, right up there with pumping gas and going to the dentist, and the sooner someone invents those food replicators they have sci-fi movies, the better. 

Meanwhile, Sylvain is having a field day, reading the brand names out loud like a kindergartener and grabbing products at random. He lobs a garish box at the cart and Felix catches it in midair. A cartoon leprechaun grins maniacally up at him.

“What is this?”

“It’s cereal! We used to eat it all the time when we were kids, remember?” 

Felix wrinkles his nose. “I never ate this. No one should eat marshmallows for breakfast.” 

He puts the box back on the shelf, but it’s no use. The cart is full of interlopers: barbecue sauce, a bottle of rosé, some huge, spiny fruit Felix has never seen before in his life, and...

“Crisco? Sylvain, you don’t even bake.”

Sylvain winks. “There’s more than one way to use Crisco.”

“Unbelievable,” Felix groans as they make their way to the next aisle. Of course it’s a sex thing. People must use it as lube, which is...not the worst idea Felix has ever heard. It doesn’t have much of a smell, and it’s pretty greasy. Sylvain would probably slip right into his ass with that, especially since he’s still wide open from their tryst this morning. 

Dammit, he’s getting kind of wet again just from thinking about how effortless it would be. In and out, skin slapping against skin, breaths coming hard and fast and fuck, why are they still at the stupid grocery store? Felix refuses to give Sylvain the satisfaction of knowing how horny he is, trudging to the next aisle even though all he really wants is to go home and try this new lube out. 

“Hey, grab me some sourdough, would you?” Sylvain calls, snapping Felix out of it. 

“Sourdough? But you like wheat bread.”

“Maybe I want to try something new.” Sylvain points to a loaf on the bottom shelf. “That one looks good.”

Felix realizes he’s been duped the second he touches the bread, but Sylvain is already flush against his back, rocking his hips. 

“Mmm, there’s that fine ass.”

“Sylvain...”

“Come on, drop your pants and show me that tight little hole.”

“This is the bread aisle.”

“And I want to knead your buns.”

There’s no stopping Sylvain when he gets like this, and the worst part is that it almost always works. He’s grinding on Felix now, his dick proud and prominent even under his jeans. Felix could probably talk him into doing it in the bathroom, but fuck it—there’s no one around. Before he can think better of it, Felix pulls his pants and underwear down to flash his bare ass. Sylvain moans, low and raspy, and then he's gone. 

Felix glares over his shoulder, ready to chew Sylvain out for leaving him cold and wanting, but he hasn’t run off. He’s opening the Crisco.

“We didn’t pay for that,” Felix hisses, as if this new development isn’t making him even wetter. 

Sylvain shrugs. “We’re just gonna buy it anyway.” He rips the foil seal off and proceeds to dip his cock into the shortening, sighing contentedly as he glides out and back in. 

Oh, to be that Crisco. It’s stuck in his damn pubes. Felix grabs the nearest shelf for stability. “Get over here and fuck me already, fire crotch.”

Then and there, right in front of the English muffins, Sylvain glides into his ass. It’s effortless. Probably would be even if Sylvain hadn’t fucked his brains out that morning. Felix hates to admit it, but there’s something about getting fucked in the bread aisle... Anyone could walk by at any second and catch Sylvain pumping his ass like he’s churning butter. 

Sylvain shoves his hand down the front of Felix’s pants to feel for himself. “You’re so wet...” he murmurs. “For someone who hates bread, you sure are hungry for it.” 

“Fuck me harder or I’ll gag you with a baguette.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Sylvain bites his ear, but he obeys, thrusting faster, so rough they knock a pile of croissants onto the floor. “Oops, guess we’re buying those.”

“Cum on them,” Felix growls. “Make it worth it.”

Sylvain makes a choked sound, barely pulling out in time and shooting his load all over the croissants. Amazingly, not a single drop hits the floor. 

He grabs Felix by the waist and kisses him, demanding and desperate, slippery fingers plunging into his pants once more. It doesn’t take much rubbing before Felix cums, too, gushing past Sylvain’s hand and down his own legs. His load is not nearly so tidy. 

“Uhh...” 

Felix and Sylvain turn to find a poor, helpless clerk staring at them like she wishes this was the bleach aisle so she could douse her eyes. Felix almost feels guilty, but an orgasm is one hell of a drug and all he says is, “Clean up on aisle 3.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to the 1? 2? other people in the sylvix public sex pit, apologies to everyone else
> 
> they fuck at ikea in the next chapter, you've been warned


	2. poang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IKEA jail probably isn't real

“Please, Felix? Pretty please?”

“No. Not after what happened at Publix.”

“But IKEA is so fun! Besides, it’s my fault the coffee table’s broken. I should help you replace it.”

Felix folds his arms. Yes, it’s Sylvain’s fault for fucking him so hard the table collapsed, but the bruise was worth it. Felix isn’t upset about that. 

No, he’s upset with himself for thinking he could sneak out to IKEA undetected. Sylvain loves everything about IKEA, right down to the damn meatballs (which are actually delicious, but that’s beside the point). Moreover, he loves shopping with Felix no matter where they go, but therein lies the problem: Sylvain really loves it. As in, it makes him horny. And, damn him, he always seems to figure out how to get Felix in the mood, too. 

Which is why they’re no longer allowed in any Publix store in the tri-county area, and why croissants make them both horny to this day. Felix doesn’t want to get banned from IKEA, too (and he really doesn’t need more sexual associations with food). 

“You can help me put the table together when I get home, but I’m going by myself and that’s final.”

Sylvain sticks out his lower lip. “Not even if I promise to keep it in my pants?”

“You have never once in your life kept it in your pants.”

Sylvain waves his hands in front of his clothed crotch, as if not doing windmills at this exact moment is some kind of huge accomplishment. 

“Even a broken watch is right twice a day,” Felix counters. But the dig runs right off Sylvain’s back. He takes Felix by the hands, clearly getting ready for the hard sell.

“What if I drive?” Sylvain offers. “You hate that parking lot. I’ll wait in the car while you get the table—I’ll even load the car because I know you hate trunk Tetris.”

He makes some good points, but... “No.”

“C’mon, I’ll be good, I swear!”

If Felix had a dollar for every time he heard that, he wouldn’t be buying furniture at IKEA. 

Sylvain doesn’t even wait for a reply before he lowers his voice and whips out the lethal weapon. “I just like spending time with you, Felix.”

It’s not a lie, but it's the beginning of the end. Felix, loathe though he is to admit it, loves spending time with Sylvain, too. "Fine."

First, Sylvain’s driving. Next, he’s “just coming in to eat.” Then, he’s “just going to push the cart.” Before long, they’re walking the shop floor together, going back and forth about whether they really need a compact dish drying rack. 

All in all, it’s going well, and Sylvain doesn’t even look too smug about getting his way. 

Felix should have known the other shoe was about to drop.

“Hey, don’t we have that blanket?” Felix freezes as Sylvain answers his own question: “We totally do! That’s the one you came all over last week.”

(Much later, when they’re half-naked and sitting in IKEA jail, Felix will realize that this was the point of no return. He should not have taken the bait.)

“I washed it!” 

(But hindsight is 20/20, and Felix is a fool.)

“I know.” Sylvain is at his side in an instant, purring in his ear. “I wish you wouldn’t have.”

“Pig,” Felix growls, but he doesn’t mean it. “You won’t touch a doorknob but you want to roll in my dirty cum blanket?”

“I’d touch any doorknob you came on.” Sylvain is insistent, from his voice right on down to the tent in the sweatpants he definitely wore on purpose. That damnable dick gets Felix into so much trouble. It’s his one weakness. He resisted for so long, but like thick (okay,  _ very _ thick), crispy french fries, he was hooked from the first taste. Even after years together, it tempts him now, prodding at his hip, jiggling under those loose pants—wait,  _ jiggling? _

“Sylvain, are you going commando?” 

Lust and dread swirl into a strange, horny cocktail in Felix’s gut as he waits for the answer. 

Sylvain waggles his eyebrows. “Why don’t you reach into my pants and find out?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Felix snaps, even though his underwear is decidedly stickier than it was when they arrived.

“I can’t help it,” Sylvain almost whines, curling one arm around Felix’s waist to untuck his shirt. Every bit of bare skin his fingertips graze starts to tingle, and fuck, Felix is not going to let Sylvain raw him at IKEA, he’s _not._ “I want to bend you over every piece of furniture here, Felix. You’re my home and I’m going to make sure everyone in this whole damn store knows it.” 

“Sylvain…” Felix doesn’t even realize when his hand drifts to Sylvain’s cock, not until it’s hot against his palm. Fabric doesn’t dampen the fire between them, and Felix casts a glare around the store. Where’s a fake tiny house when he needs one?

“I’m gonna fuck you in that Lömsk.” Sylvain points at some egg-looking chair. “It’s $69. That’s a fucking sign if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Fine,” Felix growls as Sylvain topples him into the display chair and crouches before him. It’s a tight squeeze—is this chair for children?—but at least the hood gives them the illusion of privacy. Sylvain unfastens his pants, eyes hazy with lust and something so mushy and sentimental Felix wants to kick him. 

But his fight instinct fizzles when Sylvain pulls his pants down. For all his bad lines, Sylvain is a genius with his tongue, pure poetry in dripping from his every lick and slurp. Rock hard and throbbing at his mercy, Felix grabs at the Lömsk shade. His eyes flutter shut and his legs hang limply out the sides. They’re going to have to buy this stupid chair, aren't they? There's no way he won't gonna cum on it; it’s already soaked from his dripping hole because Sylvain can only drink so much. Felix forces his eyes open, and the sight before him makes him jealous and desperate all at once. 

That asshole is jerking himself off. 

“Sylvain,” he gasps. “Get your hands off your— _ ngh _ —your fucking cock and  _ fuck me.” _

“No room,” Sylvain slurs around his dick. He says other unintelligible things, but it doesn’t matter because his lips feel so good Felix is definitely going to break the chair.

“At least _ —ahh— _ fuck me on adult furniture,” Felix grinds out, bracing his heels on Sylvain’s shoulders and pushing him off. Sylvain licks his lips. The front of his sweatpants is wet, too, and he scrambles into the nearest chair that doesn't look like something out of _Alice in Wonderland._ A Poang, Felix thinks, before freeing Sylvain’s cock and pouncing on it like a cat. 

Like a ship in a canal, Sylvain cruises in, slick and easy. The chair has some bounce to it, and Felix speeds ahead, filling himself over and over again in an obscene, wet rhythm. Sylvain moans his name through glistening lips, compelling Felix to taste himself. He’s tangy, musky; delicious on Sylvain’s wicked tongue. 

“I’m yours,” Felix growls. Sylvain bites his lip just like his fingernails bite into Felix’s ass. The Poang creaks beneath them and fuck, they’ll buy this one for their house, too. They'll buy them all. “Cum in me, I’m—”

“You”—Sylvain thrusts a hand between them to stroke his dick—“first!”

High on sex and domestic bliss, Felix cums hard, clenching around Sylvain in pulse after mind-numbing pulse. Sylvain lifts him by his hips and slams him back down, setting off another, deeper, wave. That’s the one that gets Sylvain off. He shouts in Felix’s ear but it’s hard to get mad when he can't tell his own cum from Sylvain’s and they’re bucking into each other and the chair snaps and, oh fuck, they’re on the ground in a heaving mess of sex and canvas-wrapped polyurethane foam.

Sylvain’s voice is the next thing Felix registers. “Hello, officer.”

“I’m a security guard.” 

Felix turns around to find someone—Wanda, according to the nametag—glaring at them.

“We can pay for these,” he mutters, squeezing Sylvain a little too hard between his thighs. It’s his fault they’re in this mess, after all. Him and his stupid, addictive cock.

When all is said and done, Felix and Sylvain are out about $1000 bucks—the cost of two chairs and two fines. Somehow, Sylvain’s silver tongue (and Felix holding his own barbed one) gets them out of misdemeanor charges.

“We’ll have to be more discreet next time,” he tells Felix as they drive home from court.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

As usual, Sylvain is right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time: sex at the kia summer sales event
> 
> no one pays me for these banger endorsements


End file.
